


Search and Rescue

by Torpi



Series: Search and Rescue [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29084376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torpi/pseuds/Torpi
Summary: For once,  the songs were kinder when they spoke of Maedhros finding Dior’s children dead. For in truth, they had been alive....
Series: Search and Rescue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138226
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	Search and Rescue

Frozen snow crunches, groans under his boots. Branches creak from cold. His breath plumes into the frigid air, instantly freezing into swirling diamond dust. His sweat is solid, sharp needles stabbing his tissues. But he has fire in his core. He will not give up. He will find them, find them, _find them._

His thoughts narrow down to finding the two children and forgets the heavy sword, the frozen blood, the wounds that cramp his movements. He is walking almost like an atan now, clumsy with blood-loss, heavy with brother-loss.

He sees them bundled up under a tree, hugging each other for warmth, halfway buried in green-grey Warm-Moss. He approaches, feet ice-cold. Their hands are warm, their cheeks are white and frozen. He takes them in his arms, forgoing his sword. He warms them, hugs them both, bundles them in his cloak awkwardly. Maitimo starts back, steps heavier, heart lighter and slips into a warm memory, full of light, carrying a sleeping Curufinwë and Tyelko, their cheeks flushed and mouths smiling. He automatically turns to Makalaurë who is carrying Carnistir and he is greeted by a dead branch that creaks and splinters from the cold.

They shift in his arms. He sings a lullaby and their glazed eyes focus sharply. He stops, crouches down and lets them move around their arms and legs a bit, then bundles them close again. They meekly let him take them into his arms. His mouth starts painfully stretching in the beginning of a smile when they turn to his face, kick and scream so loud he feels his brain and ears explode from pain. He staggers and barely manages to block a killing blow from the left one. They roll out of the cloak and attack from both sides, pouring in all their grief, anger, fury and horror. They are trained, they are fast, and they are ready to kill him. The children scream and scream relentlessly and the sound feels like battering rams to his head.

He does not want to kill them.

He kicks one and the boy flies away and thuds in a tree trunk. He hears a crack. The boy’s spine or the trunk? The other does not stop. Maedhros has longer reach and keeps him away. He wants to beg them to stop but his throat is constricted, muscles spasming and choking him as surely as fingers digging into his windpipe. 

The first one gets up and he feels relieved. They attack simultaneously, lightning fast. The younger one manages to trip him and all fall in a flurry of powdered snow. He is suddenly reminded of his younger brothers tumbling with him in a long ago memory of youth. He sees Tyelko’s face, eyes shining with laughter, silver hair whipping around his face. He raises a hand to thread his fingers through it and his hand catches silver hair but Tyelko’s face morphs into another’s with eyes full of grief and fear.

He blocks a needle dagger aimed to his eye. The child’s mouth is full of blood. Was he hit? Internal bleeding or just in the mouth? His tongue? Maitimo, dizzy, vision blurry, reaches to ask the child, to understand what is wrong. A stone cracks into his temple and his vision explodes to black pain. When he comes back to himself, Elúred is impaled by his sword.

 _No, no, no, not this_. Eluréd crawls on the blade, blood streaming, steaming, trying to get closer to him, gaze unwavering. Maedhros pushes him, and Eluréd falls back in his own blood. He keens and Maedhros feels his left lung collapse. His own mouth bubbles with blood, choking his excuses.

The other hurls a dagger, weaves in and out of his reach, trying to not waste the advantage his brother gave him. They will not give up. Maedhros cuts an arm and it flies away, spraying his face with red warmth. They would not stop until they are in pieces.

He cuts Elurín’s other arm and the boy pivots on his leg and kicks him in the liver. He cuts it and Elurín still comes, teeth bared and bites him. His teeth break through his vambrace and fasten on his right hand. Maedhros stabs his cheeks, forces the knife through his mouth, smashing teeth and stabs him in the brainstem. Elurín stills as well.

Their blood screams at him in an unending, relentless, silent wail. Maitimo weeps tears of blood. He gently puts them in his cloak again, heavy with blood. He cuts two wet strands of hair from each of them, silver turned copper-red. Like his. The trees moan in pain.

He carefully lowers them in a shallow dip in the ground with a lot of Warm- Moss, bundles them up for warmth and leaves. Their blood finally freezes on his face. His mourning braid, now five strands thicker, swings heavily on his back, dragging him to the ground.

He has other brothers to bury as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Name switches are intentional and show a certain frame of mind.
> 
> Warm-Moss, a very warm type of moss that was from before the Sun, used to kindle fire and also to simply help with cold. Very good insulator, it reacted to the slightest heat by giving heat of its own.
> 
> The boys are around 13 years old.
> 
> The cutting of hair from deceased ones and braiding it with your own hair is a mourning custom from the adani.


End file.
